“These empty halls are crowded, this silence is too loud. Shadows they call out, now i’ve lost what once was found.”

It seems strange how we look in the same mirror, yet what stares back, is so painfully different.

You cannot force a vine to grow the fruit of an apple tree, for the sake of your love of apples. What fruit can it possibly bear?

My blood is fifty percent alcohol the other half was you.

Now i’m like you, just a memory floating across, this now foreign land.

You’re my bad habit, on this dark planet, light up my world like stars, now they’re ashes.

I don’t want to forget you, even though its best to, now you’re just the empty space, in my bedroom.

Contemplate your own mortality daily, then see how much we must change.

My closest friend is myself, although he may lie to me, at least i know the lies to be true.

Of all the roses in the bush, you have the sharpest thorns.

I revel in the solace found when gold rays caress your sleeping face. Blissfully unaware of the beauty they’re revealing.

A cherry blossom refusing to bow to the seasons; fighting off frozen winds fiercely, for it knows the power held in the beauty, of its bloom.

I want to hear your secrets, to learn their weight, and bare them as my own.

You are a drug that my blood forgot, it needed.

Don’t matter how much money you got, there’s only two kinds of people: there’s saved people and there’s lost people.

It’s not songs that remind me of lost lovers. It’s poems.

I was never crippled until I lost hope.

By hating that person, you have lost something very sweet in yourself.

For time lost may not recovered be.

There’s a certain amount of traveling in a dream deferred.

It was a good place for getting lost in, a city no one ever knew, a city explored from the neutral heart outward, until after many years, it defined itself into a jumble of clearings separated by stretches of the unknown, through which the narrowest of paths had been cut.

There are no magics or elves or timely godmothers to guide us. We are lost, must wizard a track through our own screaming weed.